Never thought about drawing in my file. I mean, actual and real drawing, not that thing you usually do in your math class, bored. First because I didn’t know where and how to start; in second place, because I’ve thought for a very long time I was unable to. I’ve always seen those beautiful, colorful and (almost) perfect drawings and illustration on Deviantart, then Facebook, Instagram and so on. But everytime I tried to commit myself into this thing, drawing magnificent pieces of art, I was defeated by my lazyness. I didn’t find my style, and that were actually the problem: I was copying and, though I am a very good impressionist, I can’t be another artist. I was cheating.
I realize it in June, 2015. I was sick at home and my eyes just stared at the wooden box of Winsor & Newton’s watercolor my boyfriend gave me for my birthday. Untouched for nearly three months. I opened it and simply started to paint, without any inner judgment or expectation. What came up was very nice to me, and I was radiant: first time in my life, I’ve made something by my own, not searching on Pinterest or Instagram for any suggestion, style ideas, or everything else. There were me and my tools, my paper, my ideas.
Not so simple, I mean letting (actually) go all the voices in my head saying that I wasn’t good enough, that people wouldn’t appreciate my works because they were too simple and plain. The strongest part of me screamed out for a metaphorical silence, just asking acceptance. Respect. Expecting those two things from me, to start. And hoping to find them also in the other’s words.